


The Happy Ever After

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: On the day of Frankie's funeral, Craig reflects on life in Singapore with his boyfriend John Paul and their son, Matthew and how they got there.





	The Happy Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> How could I resist? It's been about 8 years since I've written for McDean so apologies if it's a bit rusty. They got their happy ending! So I had to write it.

Matthew’s wacked. Flat out, fast asleep in bed. Normally he refuses to sleep until Craig’s read him at least two stories (and done all the voices) but tonight he was already snuffling with snores when he was tucked in. Craig’s in the lounge now, staring at his phone, wondering if it’s possible to reach out to your estranged family when you’re thousands of miles away. A text? A phonecall? He doesn’t know if he can. It’s even worse now knowing Debbie and Jake didn’t make it. What would his mum think about that? Her only kids and they can’t even be bothered to give her a proper send off.

It was John Paul’s idea to take Matthew to Adventure Cove for the day and he’d managed to wangle a few days off on compassionate leave from the school. He thought it’d be a good distraction. For all of them. Matthew didn’t really understand what had happened back in Hollyoaks; Craig was only just making sense of it himself. They’d managed to piece together grief-fractured slices of information but in the end nothing else seemed to matter except Frankie, Granny Frankie, was gone.

Craig had told John Paul a hundred times that he didn’t need to take any time off, that he was fine, but John Paul wasn’t very good at taking no for an answer. They’d looked into flights home for the funeral but at such short notice the cost was ridiculous. Right now they were living on John Paul’s teaching salary (good by anyone’s standards but not enough that they had thousands spare) because all of Craig’s cash was tied up in getting the business off the ground. It had been slow progress on that front, but the loan was working its magic and the company seemed to love him. Apparently his sense of humour translated well.

“It’s that Craig Dean smile,” John Paul said. “Works in every language.”

Steph’s death had been easier to deal with. They’d known it was coming, even if the end wasn’t the way they’d imagined it would be. She’d died a hero. But his mum? She was alone, on the floor, no warning. No time for goodbyes. No time to make peace with it. When Steph had died, John Paul had been amazing. He knew what it was like to lose a sister and he’d let Craig cry it out alone and then talk through every memory he had of her in the dead of night. He’d understood why Craig hadn’t wanted to go back to Chester then, even if it was only a short trip from Dublin. They’d remembered Steph in their own way, without fuss or religion or cliché.

But losing his mum made him think about the past all over again. He felt like he was digging through it himself, bloodied fingernails and grit.

John Paul disturbs his train of thought, padding into the lounge and wrapping his arms around his neck. Craig closes his eyes and the ten years between now and then – then when they were teenagers and hiding and terrified – just disappeared. It had been easier than they ever thought possible to go back to their best. John Paul kisses the top of his head and rests his chin there.

“Are you coming to bed?”

The day feels later than it is, but the sun’s down and Singapore is just a buzz of electricity and traffic. Thousands of miles away the church service will be over and his mum will just be a face on a memorial service pamphlet.

“In a sec,” Craig says, playing with the sleeve of John Paul’s pyjama top. “I just want to send a message to Jack and the rest of them.”

“Craig, they know you’d be there if you could.”

“I know.” He puts the phone to one side, drawing up his leg and sitting on it. John Paul moves around from the back of the couch and sits beside him, taking his hand. He’s always been the best at this. Knowing what to say, what to do.

In a way, that had made things with Matthew harder at first. John Paul had five years of fatherhood on him; he was a natural. He knew every little detail about their son – his likes, his dislikes, his moods and fears. Craig knew nothing about their boy and to Matthew, he was a stranger. He was like an awkward step parent, figuring out boundaries and falling at every hurdle.

How had they got here? It had started with a car accident, Craig waking up in hospital and realising that the first person he’d thought of, the first person he needed to speak to was John Paul. So he’d swallowed his pride and his guilt and made the call. He’d expected voicemail, or that he’d called an old number, but somehow John Paul had picked up. He’d been on a flight, a bustling sound of voices and movement in the background, and Craig sheepishly joked: _Have I called at a bad time?_ That familiar softness of John Paul’s voice travelled warmly to his heart. It felt like he could breathe again, live again.

Hours, days, weeks and hundreds of phonecalls and Facetiming later, John Paul opened up the invitation to come to Singapore. Everything had been said, anger and sadness and resentment and guilt had been shed. All that was left now was a bit of openness.

“The stupid thing is,” John Paul had said, staring at each other on iPad screens, the time difference meaning it was all late nights and early mornings when they were free to talk. “I still really fancy you.”

Craig had laughed, wanted to cry. The past five years apart dissolved.

“I love you, John Paul.”

They agreed to meet without Matthew at first. It was like dating, or more accurately it was like sneaking around behind Sarah’s back again. Short bursts of time together. Cancelled plans and no staying over. They had agreed to hold back on the intimacy at first but that hadn’t really worked out as planned. All Craig wanted to do was kiss him. It seemed foolish to pretend they were taking things slow when they’d already spent so many years living together so on Craig’s first night in the city, John Paul ended up in his hotel bed.

“I already told the babysitter I wouldn’t be back until tomorrow,” he admitted. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to help myself.”

“So is this it then…are we doing this? Are we…together?”

“Nah,” John Paul said, stretching out, sighing. “I made you fly all the way over here just for the sex.”

The laughter and the playfighting and the long, indulgent kisses ended and they sunk back into each other’s arms, Craig pressed against John Paul’s chest.

“What are you going to tell Matthew?”

“I think we owe him the truth, don’t you?” John Paul said. “You’re his dad.”

Craig fell silent. A pulse thickened in his throat. “I thought…”

“Craig…you’re his dad. You’ve always been his dad. He’s ours.”

Matthew would come first, in every decision – they both agreed on that. They knew it would take him time to adjust. John Paul blamed himself for the upheaval their boy had faced, the confusion of different homes and different men. None of it was easy to hear, especially not when Craig had spent almost every day of their split looking in the mirror and seeing Johnno staring right back. Wasn’t he just as bad? Their pasts were full of missteps and bad decisions. Now was the time to fix it.

“I was thinking…” John Paul says now, sat beside Craig on the sofa of their apartment. When Craig had moved in, unpacking his small suitcase and unwrapping an old framed photo of the two of them from highschool, John Paul told him that the place finally felt like home. “Once your business takes off and we’re millionaires we’ll be able to fly home and see everyone. First class, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Well that’s what you said, wasn’t it? You’re gonna be a millionaire by the time you’re thirty. I don’t mean to rush you, but the clock’s ticking. And by my calculations you’ve got about eight months left.”

Craig’s laugh is empty, a brief release of breath almost. They had so many dreams, so many ambitions. And now all he can think of is time he wasted, time they spent apart.

“Hey,” John Paul says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing. Just nothing,” he says. He rubs at his neck, wrings together his hands. If only he’d been able to deal with who he was and who he wanted sooner. “It’s just…mum dying like that…it got me panicked. And I started thinking about us…the three of us, you, me and Matthew. I just can’t help thinking about how much time I wasted. All those years without you. I couldn’t imagine it. Not being with you again, not getting to see our little boy grow up. I’ve already missed so much, John Paul.”

“What are you talking daft for, eh? You’re here aren’t you? I love you, Matthew adores you. Haven’t you seen all those drawings on the fridge? You’re already a far _far_ cooler dad than me.” It’s true, the fridge is covered in drawings of the three of them, drawings of Craig as a superhero (because Craig had removed his tie once just like Clark Kent apparently).

John Paul cupped his hand around Craig’s face. “We didn’t just get a second chance, we got a third chance. Who else gets that?”

Craig presses his eyes shut, nodding, knowing he’s right. “You mean the world to me. I wish I hadn’t been so stupid.”

“We got there in the end, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. Yeah. We did.”

The happy ever after.

 

 


End file.
